Firewhiskey Nights
by Silens Cursor
Summary: Four years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry badly needs a vacation - and instead he gets an old friend and a Firewhiskey-soaked adventure. Threeshot, Harry/Cho


**_Author's Notes: I know I've promised to update many stories MANY times, but my muse is a fickle thing - and this was a challenge. A threeshot in the works, combining two plot ideas that have been simmering in my mind for the longest time, this fic has turned into really something... well, it's a bit strange, if anything. As always, read, review, and enjoy!_**

Harry Potter was not used to hangovers – not like this.

His head was pounding with every beat of his heart as he moaned and rolled around in the bed. His stomach was heaving, and he knew it would only be a matter of time before he revisited his dinner from last night in a fashion far less tasty.

"Damn it," he muttered, carefully putting his hand to his head as he rolled towards the edge of the bed. He took extraordinary precaution with this maneuver – he suspected that his head might just explode if he fell out of bed.

_Okay, Harry, focus. You've got to sit up, walk to the bathroom, and throw up, in that order. Think you can handle that?_

"Shut up, Hermione," Harry mumbled to himself – or rather, the voice in his mind that always seemed to sound like her. _I really need to get some new friends – or at least some that don't lecture me in my own head first thing in the morning…_

Taking a shaky breath, he slowly eased himself into a leaning position and slowly – ever so slowly – up to a sitting position.

Gravity seemed to twist, and he groaned in pain as his stomach took great offense to bringing brought upright – enough offense to expel its contents into Harry's mouth. Choking and gasping, Harry let his stomach's offense fly onto the plush carpet as his mind exploded into white hot stars.

_Oh god, oh Merlin, I'm gonna die, Cruciatus isn't even this bad… ugh, from the looks of the carpet, I really have to chew my food better…_

The pain eased slightly as Harry rubbed his eyes and gasped for air. Slowly, Harry reached over for his wand on the bedside table…

And he toppled off the bed – into the sodden, foul-smelling carpet, which, from the searing pain erupting through Harry's body, seemed to be suffering from the same hangover that he was and was determined to mete out reciprocity.

"Fuck my life," Harry moaned, his limp fingers closing around his wand. "I should never have listened to Bill and George…"

The carpet was wet against his bare skin, and the clammy feeling only got worse as he struggled to pull himself to his feet. His head, however, had very different ideas, and a second later Harry was slumped against the side of the bed, next to the malodorous puddle on the carpet, which seemed to be taking smug satisfaction in Harry's excruciating pain.

"Well, fuck you too," Harry muttered, jabbing his wand at the offending puddle. "_Scourgify,_ you bastard…"

The puddle dried up in an instant, but from the clamminess and foulness soaking Harry's boxers, he knew this would be a tenacious enemy indeed.

After a few more false starts, he staggered over to the luxurious bathroom – and promptly ruined the décor by vomiting onto the countertop and sink. _Well_, he thought as he swallowed back bile, _at least that was mostly water…_

It was at that second that Harry saw his reflection. Despite the pain radiating from his head and scalded throat, he managed a weak grin at his twenty-one year old self. _Handsome bugger you are, aren't you? A bit worse for wear, of course, but we can handle after breakfast._

Harry's reflection winked at him and smiled. "Might want a shave first, mate!"

A second later, Harry was slumped over the towel rack, breathing fast as he remembered that he was in a wizarding hotel, and that talking mirrors were perfectly normal. _Bloody thing nearly gave me a heart attack… why the hell does everything have to _talk_ in this world?_

"You could do with a shower too, you know," the reflection added cheerfully.

"Oh, go to hell," Harry mumbled, staggering towards the toilet. A few seconds later, he realized – forcibly – that his stomach wasn't quite done with him yet.

* * *

An hour later, Harry staggered out of the bathroom, clutching a towel around his stomach (which had decisively won the battle in the bathroom and was gloating in its victory) and rubbing his head, where his headache was only beginning to subside.

But it was his head that was concerning him – because he didn't have the slightest clue where he was, what time it was, and why the bin in the bathroom had been filled with strange, plastic wrappers that were both damp and smelt a bit funny. He had the peculiar feeling that he knew what they were, but considering he could barely remember his own name, he figured that mystery would be settled later.

He carefully peered around the room and frowned. One thing was for sure, it was _not_ his flat back in Diagon Alley or his rooms in Grimmauld Place or the Burrow. If anything, the room seemed like a cheerier room yanked straight out of Malfoy Mansion. A small Muggle suitcase was shoved haphazardly against the wall, and from the pile of clothes strewn around the room, Harry guessed that he might have had difficulty deciding what to wear the previous day. _Fantastic… well, at least Mrs. Weasley did teach me those bloody cleaning charms… some of them might be useable again, at least…_

After a few minutes of rummaging around in the pocket of a pair of casual black slacks, Harry found a black wallet and a small purple booklet. Flipping it open, Harry could only raise his eyebrows in surprise as he saw a rather disheveled Harry Potter staring back at him. He shook his head and closed the booklet, opening the wallet to see a considerable amount of Galleons and…

He groaned again. He knew where he was now.

"Well, Bill and George did say that my first day in Las Vegas would be incredible," he muttered. "It's a damn shame I can't remember it…"

He concentrated as he tried to remember the morning. He had caught the long-distance Portkey from Bristol an hour after dawn, and a few minutes later he had been walking through American customs into the searing heat of a city George and Bill had claimed was one of the most magical on the planet – and one of the only ones in the United States worth visiting.

"Trust me, Harry," Bill had promised. "When Fleur and I went two years ago, it was the only place we stayed longer than a day in the United States. The wizarding community takes tourists there from all over the world, and the Muggles there are some of the closest ones to accepting magic openly."

"Gambling, drinking, beautiful women," George had reminisced fondly. "Fred would have loved it." Apparently, the lone twin had gone to the city for a few months after Fred died as a last-ditch effort to recuperate. He had returned with a wide smile, the jaunty gleam returned to his eyes and dozens of bags of Galleons in his pockets. "It's a place where you can find love for a day or for the rest of your life."

Harry had snorted in disgust. "Somehow I doubt that."

"Lord knows you need a break from everything, Harry," Bill had said frankly. "I mean, your relationship with Ginny is on the out, you're overly stressed, and you haven't properly had a good time in ages."

"If you go, neither of us will tell," George had promised with a smirk. "Well, at least we won't tell anybody until you're a few days gone and Hermione's going stir-crazy."

_Ten to one she's already going stir-crazy,_ Harry thought with a smile as he pulled out the two keys that the receptionist had given him – a polished platinum key, and a funny golden card that allowed him to enter 'the Muggle way'. Having no idea what that was, he had simply pocketed the key, smiled weakly at the receptionist, and tried to ward off the feeling that he suspected the smartly dressed young man had been hitting on him.

_All right, _he thought as he surveyed the room. _I need to figure out what the hell happened last night, why I have a large stack of American Muggle money, and why… hold on a moment, why are there three pairs of panties in my good shoes? _

With a bit of dawning horror, he pulled out the lacy bits of material, all three slightly damp – and not with water or the vomit that Harry had become familiar with.

"Oh, shit," Harry said aloud. He suddenly had a very good idea what the plastic things were in the bin. "This can't be good."

* * *

"Oh, good _morning_, Mr. Potter!" the receptionist said with a wide smile as Harry staggered up to the desk, a bewildered expression his face.

"Oh, Merlin," Harry muttered.

"How was your night last night?" the receptionist added with a provocative wink.

Harry took a deep breath. "Well, you see… do you have any Memory Restoration potions?"

"We have the video if you'd like."

Harry sputtered. "_What_?"

"Oh yes, one of the greatest new advancements in Morgana's Emporium are state-of-the-art Muggle security cameras with magical enhancements –"

"Magic and electricity don't work together!" Harry interrupted, aghast. "Are you telling me –"

The receptionist cocked his head sideways. "Mr. Potter, this is _Las Vegas_. We make sure the security of all our customers is top-notch – lord knows what those _vampires_ from New Orleans do up in their rooms, but we tend to block those cameras – but magic and electricity combinations were perfected about ten years ago by the Stanford Secret Magical Collegiate and we purchased one of their deluxe packages for a good price two years ago –"

The headache in Harry's temples was threatening to explode again. "So you're telling me you have _video_ of whatever I was doing last night?"

"In full colour with sound," the receptionist said proudly. "It's quite fabulous, to tell you the truth."

"I'm sure," Harry muttered. "Remind me again why, I dunno, _England_ doesn't have magical electricity or whatnot –"

"Well, it's not _really_ magical electricity, more like insulation, and it probably has something to do with those nasty registry exportation laws that were established at the '73 Los Angeles Convention, and I'm sure that the fact that the United States of America has no fixed constitution regarding Muggle magical projects – no fixed constitution at all, really, or a much of a unified magical society, either –"

"Receptionist," Harry interrupted, putting a hand to his forehead. "Mr… what's your name again?"

"Gelnyk. Herbert Gelnyk. A great pleasure to make your personal acquaintance –"

"Mr. Gelnyk, shut up," Harry said dangerously. "You're dealing with a very angry, very hung-over wizard who personally was responsible for killing Voldemort."

Gelnyk frowned. "Who's Voldemort?"

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

"I don't know _every_ wizard in the world," Gelnyk replied with an insufferable sniff. "I'm not a librarian or something, you know."

Harry groaned as he put his hand to his forehead and imagined Hermione's face if she had heard that comment. "I just want to know why there were three pairs of ladies unmentionables shoved into my good shoes and why there are a pile of wizarding condom wrappers in the bin!"

"Well, if I remember correctly, they needed a place to put them after you invited them back to your room," Gelnyk replied promptly. "They then proceeded to make wild passionate love to you until precisely three thirty-nine – for a length of about two hours. The condoms just kept breaking, you really went through a lot of them, I do admire your endurance – when at which they dressed and exited the room, leaving you somewhat insensate upon the bed."

"I was up there with three women."

"Yes."

"And I was the only one who was drunk out of his mind and still randy enough to have sex for two hours?" Harry finished, his temper rising.

"Actually, if I remember correctly, it was for two hours, seven minutes, and twenty-six seconds," the receptionist corrected with another audacious wink.

"How many times did you _watch_ that video?" Harry demanded, exasperation and anger warring in his voice.

"I don't know what you're talking about –"

"And why are there stains right _there_ on your pants?"

The man flushed scarlet. "My personal life is none of your concern, Mr. Potter!"

Harry sighed as he drew his wand. "Listen here, Herbert Gelnyk, do you value your head where it is, as opposed to being inserted up your arse?"

"You don't know that kind of magic –"

Harry tapped the wand twice on the counter, and the man paled. "America might have combined magic and electricity, but an English spell can shrink one's head and insert it into another man's arse. And you wonder whose society is more advanced. Now, as neither of us want this – I want to keep my visa here and you want your head to remain free of that kind of experience - I propose that you give me the names of those women who frequented my room last night."

The man paled slightly. "I, uh… I'm sorry, Mr. Potter, but I can't. Confidentiality is prized at Morgana's Emporium –"

The wand tapped twice more on the desk.

"– But for _you_, Mr. Potter, I'll be more than willing to give you a copy of their identification required to be produced whenever one enters our hotel and casino."

"Good answer," Harry replied with a smirk, taking the papers from Gelnyk and turning towards the door. "Oh, and one more thing?"

"Yes?"

"Change your trousers, for god's sake. Nobody needs to see that, particularly if they're fighting a battle with their stomach."

Turning on his heel, Harry reached for the door as he flipped through the paperwork, scanning the names and the hotels in which the three women were reportedly frequenting.

His eyes widened when he reached the last name.

"Oh, _shit_."

* * *

It was a very weary, very frustrated, and very thirsty Harry that staggered into the bar several hours after he had left the hotel. Sitting up on the worn wooden stool (something that felt very comfortable, almost reminiscent of home), he tapped twice on the counter.

"What would you like?" the bartender asked, her eyes lighting up as they saw Harry.

"I dunno," Harry replied, rubbing his eyes as he looked around the room. "Just a beer, I guess." He _still_ wasn't sure if this was a wizarding bar or not – from the looks of things, many of the people in the room looked just like him – weary, frustrated, or hung-over. _Guess I'm just fitting in with the crowd,_ Harry thought morosely as he surveyed the room. _And after spending a day looking for two women I seriously doubt even _exist_ anymore and a third who's probably halfway across the world by now, I guess I can sympathize…_

The bartender slid the glass of beer to Harry. He looked at it slowly and he frowned.

"What's this? I asked for beer."

"It's called Corona, and it's a beer," the bartender replied with a small grin.

"Beer, my arse!" Harry said with exasperation. "Why is it so damned _cold_?"

"We do store the bottles in the fridge," the woman replied, raising her eyebrows.

"No, no, no, you don't get it," Harry said with irritation. "You serve beer _warm_, lady –"

"Tiffany."

"Say what?"

"My name," the woman replied slyly, "is Tiffany. What's yours?"

"Harry… look, it doesn't matter! I just want a normal beer! And why the hell is there a little lime wedge floating in it?"

"Flavouring," Tiffany replied succinctly. She leaned close and pouted her lips. "I can add flavouring to a bunch of other things as well –"

"Not tonight, Tiffany," Harry grumbled, quickly rising to his feet. "I'm going to find another bar."

"Aren't you going to pay for that?"

"No, I didn't drink it!"

"But I made it," Tiffany replied with an insouciant smile, moving closer. Harry couldn't help but notice that her rather large chest was swaying enticingly towards him. "Just… for… _you_."

Harry quickly stepped backwards. "Are you… are you implying that you want to… you want to –"

She smiled again. "You can fill in the blanks, Harry."

Harry desperately looked around the room. "Um… yeah, sure. Listen, I just had sex last night, and I'm not entirely sure with whom, and I really want to solve that mystery before I end up in bed with another woman or three –"

Tiffany frowned. "Who said I want to have sex with you?"

"But you said –"

"Harry, I'm single, you're cute and foreign, and I work for tips," Tiffany replied, cocking an eyebrow. "You're new here, aren't you?"

"Is it that obvious?" Harry muttered.

"Yes."

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "I, uh… well, I need to use the bathroom."

"Down the hall and third door the right. And, Harry?"

"What?"

Tiffany slid a small scrap of paper across the bar. "If you're ever in town again, call me."

Harry's eyes went wide, and he stumbled back a few more steps before shaking his head wildly and darting into the bathroom, breathing very quickly. _Talk about being forward… women sure as hell aren't like that in England… must be a Las Vegas thing or something…_

He looked at himself in the mirror again and sighed after a few seconds. _Good, this a Muggle bar, the furniture's not talking to me_. _I guess the only thing I can do now is head back to the hotel, find that video, and maybe try and track down the women that way… that is, if I can remember where the hotel is._

He took a deep breath and spun on his heels, Disapparating with a loud crack. After an agonizing second, he reappeared in front of the bar, breathing heavily and looking around frantically to make sure nobody had seen him appear out of nowhere.

"Well, that was close," he muttered.

"Tell me about it."

Harry nearly jumped a foot in the air. He spun around quickly, trying to pinpoint where the voice had come from. He frowned as he peered towards the door of the bar he had just magically left. Somebody was standing – no, _leaning_ – against the doorpost, drumming a wand against the dilapidated wall.

"Do I know you?"

The figure smiled and walked out of the shadows, an exasperated smile on her face. "Oh come on, Harry, you don't remember me?"

"If I met you last night, you can count on that," Harry replied with a shrug. The woman was lithe, wearing a flirty sky-blue shirt and short black skirt. Her hair was black, tousled, and looked almost as disheveled as Harry's… almost as if she had been in a very similar scenario the night before…

His eyes went wide. _No way, this is impossible, how did she find me before I found her… and has she been following me all day? The sly, clever, little – _

"Well, Harry," Cho Chang said with a bit of a smirk, a trace of an English accent still lingering in her voice, "do you want to go to a more upscale joint, so you don't look so wildly out of place and I can change into something more appropriate?"

Harry stared at her for a long few seconds, barely able to form words in his mind, much less speak them. "I… I…"

"Well, you haven't changed much," Cho cut off his stammering with a little shake of her head. "Go get cleaned up, and meet me at Nimue's Palace around seven."

"What time is it now?" Harry asked blankly.

"Five."

"No wonder the bar was half-empty."

"And you just managed to reinforce the stereotype that a British man will drink anywhere and at anytime," Cho replied with a wink. "Don't worry, you didn't humiliate yourself _that_ badly."

Harry's eyebrows shot into his hair. "Are you really Cho Chang, or is the alcohol and pollution getting to me?"

The young Asian woman sighed. "Harry, I've changed a fair bit since the last time we spoke, and I'd love to bring you up to speed. We'll have dinner at Nimue's Palace, and a grand time." She turned to leave, giving Harry a great view of her wonderfully shaped buttocks. _What kind of calisthenics does she do, because Quidditch won't give you that…_

"Hey Cho, wait!"

She turned around, a grin still on her face. "Yes, Harry?"

"I don't remember where my hotel is."

She raised her delicately shaped eyebrows. "Really."

"Hey, I've been wandering around Las Vegas this entire day looking for you and your two other friends –"

"Morgana's Emporium is six blocks west of here, and under a Concealment Charm. It'll look like it's been torched until you're within a meter of the building," Cho replied with a huff. "And those girls weren't my friends."

"What? Then who were they?"

"Prostitutes."

"_What_?"

Cho raised her hands. "What can I say? They're everywhere in this fair city. See you at Nimue's, Harry!"

And with that, she turned on her heels, leaving a flabbergasted Harry staring at her beautiful ass and wondering how on earth he could have forgotten it.

* * *

"You're late," Cho said reprovingly, tapping her watch as a rather irritated-looking Harry sat down across from her.

"I couldn't find this place," Harry snapped. "You never gave me directions, so I had to ask a creepy-looking homeless man who thought I was the long-lost cousin of Merlin himself!"

"Well, the dress robes might have been a tipoff."

"Hey, they're charmed to appear like Muggle clothes when I'm in the presence of…" Harry's voice trailed off. "Oh, damn it."

"He didn't give you the directions, did he?" Cho asked lightly, gesturing to a nearby waiter for the menus.

"No, he didn't, so I had to go back to the hotel and ask the flaming homosexual receptionist, who, might I add, was jerking off to the video of our wild escapade last night!" Harry finished in a furious whisper.

"Hmm," Cho said with a small smile as she opened her menu. "I never would have thought that Harry Potter makes good pornography."

Harry sputtered, indignity mixing with embarrassment as he struggled for words. "I… I… why the hell did you _do_ that last night?"

Cho set down her menu and gave Harry a frank look. "Have you ever had group sex before, Harry?"

"Well, no, but I –"

"Ever fantasized about it?"

"That's not the –"

"Well, I thought since you're new in Las Vegas, I thought I'd give you a little taste of the atmosphere," Cho finished. "Even if it was with a pair of cheap witches who'd probably get arrested in a heartbeat if they walked Diagon Alley. Solicitation is illegal in England, after all."

"And what about you?" Harry demanded, lowering his voice and leaning close. "Why did you… why did –"

Cho looked at Harry with a degree of annoyance. "Harry, when I'm ready to talk to you about that, then I will. But until then, what are you drinking?"

"What? I –"

"I'm buying, what do you want?"

"When did you change the topic of conversation?"

"Ten seconds ago. I'll tell you what, we'll get a bottle of elf wine for dinner and a nice bottle of Oklahoma Firewhiskey for later? Is that all right?"

The waiter who had stopped by the table raised his eyebrows. "I'm going to need some identification –"

"You don't need to see any identification," Cho said with a smile. "Just get us our drinks."

The waiter turned around stiffly, and moved towards the bar. Harry frowned as he watched him.

"Did you Confund him?"

"Silent Memory Charm from under the table," Cho replied with a smile, twirling her wand lightly. "And Stefan's a good friend of mine, anyways."

"Wait a minute, isn't this a wizarding establishment?" Harry asked, his eyebrows shooting up. "Shouldn't the waiters be, I don't know, protected from that sort of spell?"

"Well, they _should_ be, but Stefan's a good friend who is paid well to ignore me," Cho replied airily, setting down her menu with a smile. "The lobster's good here, but the Manticore eggs are worth a shot if you want something spicy."

"Can we move back to the topic of the foursome we had last night that I don't remember?" Harry whispered fiercely. "Are you sure those two didn't have any… I dunno, _diseases_ or something?"

"Harry, do you think I'd take risks like that?" Cho said with a smile. "Hell, you didn't even get alcohol poisoning last night, and the way you were knocking back the Firewhiskey, even I'm surprised."

"Yeah, well, George Weasley taught me a spell that helps stave _that_ off," Harry muttered. "Unfortunately, it does have some side-effects."

"Like what?"

"Short-term memory loss," Harry replied, putting a hand to his head. "I honestly can't believe this."

"Can't believe what?"

"I had group sex – a bloody _foursome_ – and I don't even remember any of it." He sighed heavily. "So much for wish fulfillment."

"Want to do it again?" Cho asked with a devilish smile.

"No! I mean yes… no, definitely… well okay, yeah, but that's not the point, Cho! You slept with me last night, and… and well, you wouldn't do that! Not after the breakup we had!"

"I told you, I've changed," Cho replied with a shrug. "It's been a long four years for me, Harry, since the last time we actually talked."

"The last time I saw you…"

"Was right before the Battle of Hogwarts," Cho said. "I offered to take you up to the Ravenclaw common room, and then that little Weasley bint chose to volunteer Luna instead." Cho's fists clenched tightly. "And then… well, I left pretty much straight after the party got in full swing."

"And where did you go?"

"Well, my parents suggested that I should go to China for a while, just to get in contact with my roots." Cho snorted. "Guess how _that_ turned out."

Harry winced. "But that still doesn't tell me how you ended up _here_, of all places!"

"Honestly, Harry, where else could I go?" Cho said with exasperation. "Most of the cities in the United States that have any wizarding society are isolated, and often so fanatical with their beliefs… well, it's not worth the effort breaking in. And it wasn't worth the effort to go back to England – particularly with all the paparazzi fawning over the great Slayer of the Dark Lord." She snorted with disgust. "Yeah, no thanks for that – as pretty as your face is, to see it everywhere I go is not my idea of fun. So, I decided just to stay here."

"So you've been in Las Vegas for… for what? Three, four years?" Harry whistled.

"Well, not exactly," Cho admitted. "I've been Portkeying back and forth between here and New Orleans for the past couple years and working through the inheritance and money my parents keep sending me. They still think I'm in China." She chuckled under her breath. "Can't imagine why."

"Why New Orleans? Is that in the United States? What's so special about it?"

"I like New Orleans," Cho replied defensively, colour finally creeping into her face. "L.A.'s not bad either, but the witches there are ridiculously snooty. Most were shipped out to Salem when they were younger and came back worse than the average Malfoy."

"That still doesn't explain why you've… changed," Harry replied with confusion. "I mean, I remember what happened in fifth year and you're a hell of a lot different than… well…"

"And you're telling me you haven't changed?" Cho asked, crossing her arms over her chest. "The Harry I remember wouldn't have showed up, alone, in Las Vegas, get drunk out of his mind, and then proceed to agree to a foursome with a girl he hadn't seen for years."

"I don't remember that agreement!"

Cho smiled sweetly. "I do. And the wine's here, so let's catch up! How was your last four years?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Well… Hermione went back to school, but Ron and I didn't. We got into the Auror Academy and that went about as well as could be expected… and I got fully exposed to the depravities of wizarding culture."

"I doubt that," Cho said with a sniff. "You haven't spent _nearly_ enough time in Vegas yet."

"And Ron got engaged to Hermione, and they're due to get married soon," Harry finished with a bit of a shrug. "I'm Ron's best man."

"And what about your love life?"

"Cho, I'm in Vegas _alone_," Harry said pointedly. "Doesn't that answer your question?"

"It confirms a few of my suspicions," Cho replied with a grin. "So Miss Weasley hasn't been riding your broomstick all too much, lately?"

"She wants me to propose, Cho. Her family too. Well, not so much Bill and George, but you get the picture."

She whistled softly. "And? You didn't?"

"Cho, I… I don't want to settle down," Harry said with frustration as he took a long pull from his wineglass. "I haven't had a chance to really _live_. I mean, I've been fighting Voldemort and whatever's left of his Death Eaters for years… hell, you know this is my first trip out of England, right?"

"I had guessed that," Cho replied smoothly, taking an easy swig of her wine. "So what happened? Did you just break it to her or did you leave without telling anybody?"

"The only witch or wizard in England who knows who I'm here is Professor Flitwick," Harry said firmly, a trace of a smile on his face.

"And why would _he_ know?"

"He was the one that got me my passport," Harry said with a smile. "So, let's go back to the subject of why you hired two prostitutes to have group sex with me."

"Why, didn't you like it?" Cho asked innocently.

"If I could remember it, I'd like it a lot more," Harry muttered. "But how on earth would you know prostitutes?" Suddenly, an unpleasant thought went through his mind. "Don't tell me you're a…"

Cho burst out laughing. "Oh Merlin, Harry, don't be ridiculous! I make more money doing what I'm doing than being a stripper or a well-paid slut."

"So what exactly do you do?"

Cho leaned close. "Keep a secret?"

"I guess."

"I rip off casinos."

Harry's eyebrows shot straight into his hair. "I'm sorry, _what_?"

"Mostly Muggle ones," Cho replied conversationally. "The Muggle security can't really catch me, and whenever any wizard enforcers – or the Hit Wizards – get on my tail, I fly to New Orleans, lie low for a few months, and then head back in disguise to start the game anew." She smirked. "You'd be surprised how much you can bring in with a few Confundus Charms at the craps tables."

"Isn't what you're doing illegal?" Harry demanded. "You could get deported or tossed in jail!"

"Sure it's illegal – that's part of the fun, Harry!" Cho leaned back in her chair and took another swig from her glass. "Life is definitely good."

"Your life sounds suicidal."

"It's a decent living, particularly if you like risk – and I was a Quidditch player, Harry, so risk was practically my middle name." Their conversation stopped as the waiter returned, and Harry ordered the most English-sounding food he could find on the menu and prayed that at least it would be served warm.

"Never saw _that_ risk-taking side of you," Harry muttered. "What happened to the –"

"Human hosepipe?" Cho filled in, with a trace of a smile. "Harry, you dated me when Umbridge was at the school, and after I was coming out of everything with Cedric. I was a mess back then, and it took me years to put everything back together. It didn't help that Michael Corner was a little twit about the whole thing."

"So… so you never did anything with him?" Harry asked cautiously.

"As I said, he was a twit," Cho replied with a shrug. "That's not saying, of course, that I haven't tried a few things down here."

"What? With who?"

"Oh, a couple guys, a couple girls –"

Harry nearly choked on his wine. "_What_?"

Cho gave him a frank look. "I was exploring my sexuality, what do you want? And let's face it, a lot of women are better in bed than men are."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Harry replied sarcastically, his eyes roaming to the Firewhiskey bottle.

"I mean, what can I say? The good girls go to heaven, Harry, and the bad girls go everywhere." She shrugged, and her eyes gleamed in the dim light. "Most of them tend to wind up here, of course. I should tell you about that kinky Australian girl who was into anal play –"

"That's it, I'm going to need a drink," Harry said quickly, pulling the Firewhiskey bottle towards him. But Cho raised her wand, and a second later, the bottle zoomed into her open palm.

"You just want to get drunk and avoid socializing with me," she said, her voice filled with mock accusation. "I'm deeply wounded –"

"And I got laid by three women last night, and I don't even remember it!" Harry snorted. "If that's not a blow to one's greatest fantasies, then I don't know what is!"

"After dinner, Harry," Cho said with a smile. "We'll split it then."

"You drink Firewhiskey?"

"I used to be a Quidditch player, Harry, and what do you think was passed around the girls' locker room before and after matches?" Cho shrugged. "Good for relieving nerves."

"Hmm, that explains… that actually doesn't explain anything, but I'll go with it."

Cho's eyes sparkled provocatively. "Of course, I drink _other_ things as well, if you know what I mean."

Harry flushed red, but Cho started laughing, and a second later, he joined in.

* * *

"That… that was some damn good… Firewhiskey," Harry said heavily as he staggered into the lobby, Cho holding onto him and giggling with every step.  
"Told you it was good."

"And you… and you were right," Harry replied, in the best imitation of Percy Weasley he could manage. "Bloody fine and good!"

"The cultured British gentleman, now?" Cho asked, rolling her eyes.

"Oh, just fuck off," Harry replied with a dignified air, and Cho burst out laughing again.

"We should have gotten drunk _more_ together!" she said delightedly. "I mean, why… why we didn't ever do this…when we were –"

"Because _we_," Harry added with another staggering step, "we were _not_ a happy couple. Not like now."

"I didn't know we were a couple," Cho said with another giggle.

"Damn _straight_ we are!" Harry said loudly. "Well, maybe not so much you, but I, most certainly, am –"

"Drunk!" Cho exclaimed with a smile.

"Hmm… so we are," Harry said with a vaguely contemplative tone. "I think I should do something about this…"

"What are you thinking now?" Cho asked, batting her eyelashes.

"I want… I want to find some more… _prostitutes_!" Harry bellowed, staggering forward another few steps. A few older men sitting in the corner of the room chuckled at Harry's exclamations, while a few passing ladies looked scandalized.

"Harry!" Cho said in a giggling stage-whisper. "You're making a _scene_!"

"We made a hell of a great scene last night, the receptionist was masturbating all over it," Harry murmured, finally making it to the door and leaning against it with a contented sigh. "And did I ever tell you that you've got a great arse? Very firm and comfortable."

Cho giggled against and slid against Harry's chest with a smile. Her short dress was cut low enough for Harry to see Cho's entire chest, and he sighed with pleasure as he looked down.

"And you've got great tits, too."

"Oh, _stop_ it, Harry!" Cho said playfully. "These are all real, unlike three thirds of those you… you might have seen today."

"What?" Harry asked blankly. "You can't just fake tits!"

"Honey, this… this is _Vegas_!" Cho said with a shake of her head. "_Everybody_ fakes tits here!"

"But… but _how_?"

"You know something… something _amazing_ about Muggles, Harry?" Cho asked, sliding up against Harry and looking up into his eyes. "They've got Healers who can make tits bigger with something called _plastic_ and… and something called Silly-Cone."

"Sounds like some kind of ice cream," Harry said with a smile. "I like ice cream."

"You know what, Harry?" Cho murmured contentedly. "I do too. We really are… a great couple."

"How you figure?"

"Well, we both like ice cream… and Quidditch… and foursomes…"

"You liked that?"

"I wouldn't fuck with something I don't like," Cho said solemnly. "And I like you, Harry."

"I like you too," Harry replied with a sigh as he slid towards the ground. "You know what, Cho?"

"You fell down?"

"We… we can remedy that," Harry said, raising a finger. "Why… why don't you help me stand, I got a _really_ good idea."

She leaned close instead so Harry could whisper it in her ear. Her eyes went wide, and she went bright red with happiness – either that or it was blood flowing to her head from leaning over so much.

"Really? You… you wanna –"

Harry smiled charmingly. "Hey, what else… what else happens in Vegas?"

"And what happens in Vegas," Cho whispered as she kissed Harry behind the ear and pulled him unsteadily to his feet, "_stays_ in Vegas – even if his name is Harry Potter."

* * *

He could barely move the next morning, as the exhaustion was filling every inch of his body. The hangover was already pounding in his brain, and he could already feel his stomach readying itself for another vicious battle.

"Oh god," Harry muttered, putting a hand to his forehead as he began to roll over. "I'm gonna die, not again…"

He rolled over, and froze, because his naked body had just touched something very warm, very soft, and very alive in his bed.

Breathing soundly, Cho Chang was snuggling against Harry's bare chest and groin, smiling with the contentment created by slumber.

"Okay," Harry muttered, cautiously looking around and carefully sidling away from Cho. "This wasn't exactly expected…"

Bracing himself for his stomach to erupt into a full charge, he slowly raised himself onto one elbow and peered out into the room. One thing was for sure – this was _definitely _not Harry's old room. It was a lot nicer, paneled with marble and white curtains, letting a cheerful stream of sunlight over the white sofa –

Harry frowned. _That sofa's not white, hold on a second… there's something white _on_ the sofa! It looks like a dress…_

His stomach churned when he remembered that Cho's dress had been royal blue – and that he hadn't been wearing a ring when he had met her for dinner.

Nor had she.

"Oh… oh, _shit_."


End file.
